I Could Offer You a Warm Embrace (to make you feel my love)
by Tadpole24
Summary: She needs him. She needs him because her world is falling apart. Captain Swan in the midst of the Wicked battle. Angst and smut and tattoos. This is my 150th fic, come celebrate!


_**So I have been writing fanfic a lot of years and I've reached a milestone. 361,243 words later (yes, I could have written a hell long best seller), I asked everyone to send me prompts for my 150**__**th**__** fic and this is the result.**_

_**I had…**_

_**Anon asking for Hook comforting Emma after Neal's (assumed) death  
Anon asking for Emma seeing Hook in the red vest  
Kim asking for Emma's first 'I love you'  
Daphne asking for smut  
And there was a conversation between Morgan and I that ended in me including a personal headcanon of mine in here…tattoos, friends. Tattoos :)**_

_**I love you all – thank you for being so wonderful and reading my little tales. I hope I see you around for so much longer to come :) Reviews, as ever, are appreciated! **_

…

I Could Offer You a Warm Embrace _(to make you feel my love)_

…

He's the first one to touch her as the world starts to spin out from underneath her, his arms catching her body as she sinks to her knees by the side of the man she once loved. The Wicked Witch's assaults carry on around them, but not here, not in this small place she creates for them, the magic tearing from her soul and into the night air sealing them into protection.

Her fingertips reach out to numbly touch his cheek, the green smoke and sparks causing Killian to flinch each time they hit their shell, but Emma is so uncaring, so distracted, her body reacts only to one thing.

"I didn't mean it," she whispers to no one, "I wished you were dead, but I didn't mean it. I never wanted anyone to die."

The pirate presses a hand to her shoulder, instinctively hunching over her as one of the Witch's flying monkeys dives at them. But the protection spell is strong and holds off the attack as Emma mourns the loss of her child's father.

"Oh god. Henry," she cries, "You can't do this to him." Her hand presses a little more insistently into his face, "Come on, Neal. Wake up for your son."

And whilst he knows this is a private moment that he's invading, he can also see the danger lingering just outside their bubble. It's not safe here, not in this place of battle, not when she's been so hurt, "Emma, we need to move."

She turns around, eyes flashing, "We can't just leave him here."

He crouches down low, taking her hand in his, "Swan, this man was my only family for a long while and part of me will always love him, but I can't lose you in this battle as well, I need you to move."

It's almost strange that she and Captain Hook share the same feelings for the same person. Not that she imagines the love is even remotely similar, but for a while in each of their lives, this man, dead at their feet, had been their only family. The person they needed when they had no one else.

And he may have made bad decisions and made her cry and hurt and hate, but god, he was still her past and he was still Henry's father.

She chokes down a sob, squeezing Killian's hand for support, "I don't want him to die."

The pirate nods. He'd always suspected he would find his place in Emma's heart as a close second – there was just too much history here, too much of a bond. But then she looks up at him, intensely focussing on his eyes as she whispers, "No more."

And he understands then that she's mourning so many and so much and that this is bigger than just the stupid love triangle they professed on each other. But even so, as the war wages around them, he can't let her put herself in any more danger, "Lass, please."

Her eyes are fierce, "Get behind me." And he does.

She breathes deep, her body trembling slightly and then her focus becomes fixed on the Wicked Witch and Hook knows in that moment he would never want to be on the receiving end of such fury.

"What are you doing, Swan?" he asks, fear leeching into his tone.

She doesn't answer him, instead closing her eyes and breathing out in a sharp huff, something magical projecting from within her and covering the Storybrooke streets with the same faint glow that has been surrounding them for the past few minutes.

Then he realises what she's done, covering everyone dear to her in protection, casting the Wicked Witch out of her own battle and into exile while still standing right in front of them.

"Emma, be careful," his arms want to wrap around her, but knows she's stronger than that. Knows that she's not done.

She looks up at him, defiance shining in every feature, "I know what I'm doing."

"I don't doubt it," he counters, because he is still yet to see her fail. "I just can't help the worry when it comes to you."

A hint of a smile crosses her face, barely discernible amongst the pain lying there, but just enough to ease his mind.

She reaches out to hold his hand, turning her head up to the night sky as though praying to an unknown deity, then with the force of an earthquake, a pulse rocks the ground beneath their feet. The Witch is thrown off balance, her whole body clamouring for grip while behind Emma's protection Regina begins launching fireballs at their foe, the attack infuriating her into spinning on the spot, green smoke engulfing her and leaving empty space in its wake.

And they know they won't be bothered again by her tonight. It's over for now.

With tears springing to her eyes, Emma scans the crowd of townsfolk for her parents, needing to know that they're safe, that Neal's fate hasn't befallen them. When they rush forward, she doesn't hesitate to sink into their arms and feel like a little girl just for a moment.

There's a crowd gathering around Neal's body, lifting him onto a stretcher and carrying him away and it hurts her heart to know that this is it. This is goodbye. He may not have been everything to her anymore, but he was something and it is painful. She doesn't know how her life got this way.

She breaks away from her parents, turning to Hook, "Will you come with me?"

He nods, knowing her first stop will be home to talk to Henry and she's going to need someone to support her when all she wants to do is crumble, "Anywhere."

Taking his hand, she guides him away from the town centre, a part of her soul shattered and in need of comfort.

…

She's with Henry for a long while and Killian sits patiently in her room where she left him unsure if he should check on them or not. He's pacing a hole in the carpet when Emma finally steps into the room, her cheeks tear stained. "Thanks for waiting," she mumbles, her voice raw from her obvious tears.

"Of course."

He's removed his coat and his hook already and is slightly shocked when she steps into his arms and begins undoing the buttons of his vest, "Emma, what are you-?"

But she reaches up, touching a finger to his lips. "Shh," she hushes, "I just need to feel."

He frowns slightly, but the worry smooths over when she leans into him, pushing the red vest over his shoulders and kissing him chastely as though afraid he might reject her, "As much as I love that vest, I love it better when it's off you."

And as if he could ever turn away from her.

He reaches up, cradling her cheek and he knows that she would hate for him to ask if she's sure, so he just looks right at her, asking everything he needs to in his gaze. And when she nods, he kisses her.

Since finding her in New York, they have shared exactly three kisses. Chaste, innocent and sweet. But nothing prepares her for the fire she feels in this. Her fingers curl into the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, wanting to disappear into this moment and forget the fearful things out there waiting for them.

For now, all she wants is him.

Her hands skim down his chest and to the hem of his shirt, pulling it swiftly over his head and leaning back into him, the warmth of his touch too comforting to be away from for too long. She kisses her way down his neck, pushing him back to her bed and straddling his hips when he lies down. It's at this point that Emma finally sits back, looking at Killian with curious eyes.

"What do your tattoos mean?"

"Emma," he warns. She wants to forget her pain and he can help her do that, but the tales behind his tattoos were sometimes sad tales. He briefly considers lying to her before remembering their first meeting and thinking twice of that.

"Please. Just tell me your stories," she pleads. He sighs, shifting slightly under her and she reaches out to touch the long black tendrils drawn into his left arm, "What are these?"

He looks down, memorised but her simple touch, "They're for my brother. It's what the Dreamshade did to him." Her fingernails snake along the tattoos, scratching him in the most arousing way. "There are more under the brace for him. Memories of the childhood we spent together."

Her fingers trace their way up to the top of the long lines where they connect and branch into a tree across his shoulder. "There is a leaf on that tree for every year I spent in Neverland."

Her eyes widen. She had always wanted to ask had always assumed he was a lot older than he seemed, but here, looking at this tattoo and understanding just how much he has gone through and how much it means when he tells her he has found love with her makes her feel giddy and so happy. She knows she should be frightened, that if it were anyone else she would run and never look back, but he has been vying for her trust since their first meeting and god has he got it.

Her hands travel down his torso, across scar tissue and smooth expanses. He watches her intensely and she knows what she's doing to him, can feel it in his growing arousal beneath her. "And what about this one?" she points to an anchor sitting low on his hip.

He can't help but buck a little when she touches that one, her fingers driving him mad, "The day I gave up the land as my home and claimed the sea. It was my first."

She swallows, "And what was your last?" She knows the answer - she's been staring at it staring back at her since she removed his shirt. But she needs him to say it, to confirm it.

He meets her eye, ensuring she knows how much it means, "It's for a love I never thought I would have the privilege of having." Her palms flatten on his chest and she leans in, kissing the small swan sitting just above his heart. "It's for you, my Swan."

The skin is still slightly puckered where she kisses and she knows it must only be recent. "I love you," she whispers against his skin and he holds his breath, not knowing if he should reply. It's like she's just whispered a secret to his heart and any sound might make it go away.

She doesn't seem to dwell on it long though and before he knows it, her shirt is also over her head and her hips roll gently into his. His hand snakes between them, grasping both her hands in his one and rolling them over, hovering above her, breathing her in.

Her head tips up, inviting him into her and he finds himself kissing her again with the same fire as before, their hips rolling together in protest of the clothing they still have on. Leaning on his brace, he reaches down and pops the button open on her jeans, pushing them past her hips before she proceeds to kick them off, her underwear following moments later. The need to kiss her is too much and he leans into her again before she pushes him back. "You too," she urges, untying the knots that keep his pants on his hips.

Bending her legs and hooking her toes on the waistband of his trousers, she pushes down, surprised when the leather moves quite easily from his body. His mouth connects with the side of her face, kissing his way down her jaw and her neck, mumbling words of love and beauty into her skin. Her body arches into his touches and she feels moans of contentment flow from her mouth, never expecting to feel like this, never thinking she was worthy.

His nose nudges at her bra, the only remaining barrier between them, physical or metaphorical, and she reaches behind her back to undo it and help him out. He's already at the juncture of her thighs by the time she pulls off the piece of fabric, but he looks up at her with the promise of returning in his eyes before whispering, "Beautiful," across her sensitive skin and proceeding to kiss her right after, his lips soft against her core, drawing a long moan from her lips.

His tongue flicks out to taste her, dipping into the sweet and tangy mixture of her arousal and licking up to the bundle of nerves sitting at the apex of her thighs. She presses forward, wanting more, so close to the edge at his insistent touch and yet so far from feeling what she needs to. She wants to forget, wants to be lost inside the happiness that he brings to her and to let go of the pain of the day.

"Stop thinking," he growls, his hot breath playing across her skin. "Let me take care of you."

She smiles with apologies in her eyes, nodding and nearly crying out when his mouth joins her again, this time, shots of heat rushing through her, building in her belly and rolling outwards. His teeth enter the mix, nipping at her nerve endings in quick succession with his flicking tongue.

Her fingers clench around the bed sheets as she arches her back, pushing herself off the bed as he follows her completely, drawing a cry from her lips, his name mixed with praises of deities she doesn't believe in. Her body trembles as he guides her back to the bed, kissing her hip bone and working his way back up her body, dragging his tongue out over her breast and nipping at various areas of smooth skin until he, once again, reaches her lips.

She lazily curves her body upwards, pressing into him, enjoying the feel of his chest hair on her breasts, his knee between her legs. He rolls under her in a swift movement, letting her control the moment as her blonde hair hangs around them like the shield of protection she had created earlier in the night. Leaning up on her hands, she looks down at him. "I need you," she whispers, pushing back with her hips, the delicious slide of his length against her centre sending shivers through her.

He reaches his hand between them, guiding himself into her with a soft groan, rocking gently until she stills, allowing her body to get used to him. Her back arches, pushing her hips into him even further and then she draws up, pulling him from her almost completely. He gages her pace and starts to rock with her, her mouth dropping open with breathy gasps.

It's then that he catches her off guard, thrusting upwards against her pattern and throwing her off balance. She reaches out with one hand to steady herself against the bed head, but as he takes her other hand and rests it up on the wrought iron curls as well, she realises that he's done it on purpose.

Her fingers clench around the metal bed head. Her breasts sway above his face as his lips close around a nipple, drawing the sensitive skin into his mouth, his hips thrusting with a steady and quick pace. She can already feel the build again, the mixture of sensations and her pure need to just be with him doing wild things to her. If the way he's moaning into her skin is anything to go by, he's not far off either.

She places one hand back on the bed, leaning down and ignoring his quiet protest at losing contact with her breasts. Silencing him with a kiss, she twists her hips just slightly adding a new friction to the mix while his fingers trail down her body to dance across her most sensitive skin. It's too much, too fast, everything coming together at once and she doesn't want it to be over.

And then she's throwing back her head, her muscles clenching around him as she falls apart above him. "Oh god," she whimpers, her body still moving in soft rolls over his increasingly erratic thrusts.

He moans, returning the sentiment and then stilling inside of her, his entire body and soul trembling in pleasure. They continue to move in a rhythmic roll, both reluctant for this to end, for the moment to crash down upon them. It's a happy bliss that they've found themselves in, foreheads pressing together as they breathe each other in.

Finally Emma rolls them, their bodies separating and a chill running through her. He presses closer, pulling the blankets over them both. "Thank you," she whispers, and he knows it's not just for the warmth.

He nods, pulling her to his body, their legs tangling together. She reaches up to cup his cheek, her eyes searching his and finding an element of uncertainty within them and she realises that for everything they've been through together, he's still not sure where she stands.

So she kisses him, finding his hand and pulling it to her chest where the steady thud of her heart can be felt atop her skin. "Killian," she starts, "You have it. You have my heart. It's yours. It always was."

It seems like forever ago that they stood in the Neverland jungle discussing his intentions on her heart and tonight, oh tonight he came through on every promise.

He kisses her forehead, thanking her for letting him love her and she smiles up at him, placing a hand over the tattoo above his heart.

They sleep that night under her protection, strengthened by their love, forgetting all the horrors that await them in the morning and allowing themselves a moment of peace.


End file.
